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I'm glad you made this comment, it really illustrates the thesis of the essay Let's start with the line I find most telling: >...a person who has written something they feel passionate about and that reflects their personal experience...what is the takeaway here? The takeaway? You can't just read an essay and live through someone's qualia for a bit? No wonder writers are despairing. At it's best, the author argues, writing is about: >...mak[ing] something happen in a space barely larger than the span of your hand, behind your eyes, distilled out of all that I have carried, from friends, teachers, people met on planes, people I have seen only in my mind, all my mother and father ever did, every favorite book, until it meets and distills from you, the reader, something out of the everything it finds in you. All of this meets along the edge of a sentence like this one, as if the sentence is a fence, with you on one side and me on the other. But nowadays everything has to be some kind of politicized appeal or self-help panacea for it to make sense (to you, Nelkins). On your substantive points about "unsupported hyperbole", I didn't see much hyperbole there, just a sad reflection on the work culture in this country and the sacrifices we all make to live the "American dream". It is not at all easy to support an arts career in this country, and it is getting more difficult every year. And that is lamentable. To wit: >I have been to convenience stores where I see people working with untreated injuries, and when I leave, I get panhandled in the parking lot by someone in a chain-store uniform who is unable to afford the gas to get home on the last day before payday—someone with two jobs, three jobs. Until recently, I struggled to get by, and yet I am in the top twenty percent of earners in my country. I am currently saving up for dental implants—money I could as easily use for a down payment on a house. But I’m not entirely sure I’ll see the end of a mortgage or that any of us will. I think he's right - there are clear decisions and policies that have created this dystopic state-of-affairs in this country. There was design, and there was intention, and this essay ends with a call to arms to save what may be as well as an elegy for what was. >If you are reading this, and you’re a writer, and you, like me, are gripped with despair, when you think you might stop: Speak to your dead. Write for your dead. Tell them a story. What are you doing with this life? Let them hold you accountable. Let them make you bolder or more modest or louder or more loving, whatever it is, but ask them in, listen, and then write. And when war comes—and make no mistake, it is already here—be sure you write for the living too. The ones you love and the ones who are coming for your life. What will you give them when they get there? |